


Woo Me Harder, Tiny Alpha

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Child Stiles Stilinski, Courtship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Peter Hale, Sexual Assault, Young Peter Hale, that's just implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25649137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Everyone thinks it's a joke when 11-year-old alpha Stiles Stilinski requests to court 16-year-old omega Peter Hale. Stiles has nothing to offer except the future (and a long courtship).Peter sees it as an opportunity. He doesn't want to use the kid and break his heart, but isn't his freedom more important?
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 678
Kudos: 1374
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> For Steter Week 2020 Free Day.

"Peter, eat your breakfast," Talia says as she comes into the room. "You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry up."

Peter bristles at the order, but she does have a point. He doesn't want to be late. He's maintaining a 4.0 at the top of his class. If his long-term plans are going to come to fruition, he needs to keep on that path.

While he eats, Joseph putters around in the kitchen, but when Peter's done, he approaches. "Are you going to bake for the picnic tomorrow?"

Peter rolls his eyes. He likes baking, but he's not about to show off his skills to a bunch of horny alphas. "What, so everyone can see what a great homemaker I would be?" Peter asks bitterly.

"You're sixteen, you _should_ be thinking about a mate," Talia lectures. It's nothing Peter hasn't heard before, though.

He glares at her. "As you said, I'm sixteen. Alphas aren't considered adults until they're eighteen. It's a ridiculous double standard designed to keep omegas 'in their place.'"

"Everyone knows omegas mature faster than alphas, Peter," Talia says. "Though no one would know it by the way you're acting. Stop being so immature about this."

"I've dated. I even accepted an Overture this year!" Peter says. He doesn't add that he did it mostly to keep Talia off his back.

"And Deucalion was a lovely choice; he would have made you a good mate. But then you broke up with him and ruined everything," Talia says.

The whole time, the children are watching, looking back and forth between them as they speak. Peter hopes they pick up some independent thinking from this or at least learn they can have differing opinions from their mother.

"He treated me like a prize to be won," Peter says. "He lied at first, just agreed with whatever I said, but as soon as we started the courtship he started talking about mating right away, and me having to drop out of school to raise his squalling pups!"

Joseph interrupts. "There are some good alphas out there, Peter. There's such a thing as love."

Hearing her mate, Talia softens. "Listen to Joseph. Alphas aren't your enemies. I just want you to be happy with a family like I am."

Peter dismisses the entire concept of love with a wave of his hand. He gets up from the table. "You know what would make me happy? An education. A career. _Purpose_ in my life beyond picking out nursery paint and the best organic baby food." Peter sighs. He wishes his sister understood. "I'm going to school."

"You can't go to college without an alpha sponsor. Find an alpha to do that, and you can go," Talia says.

" _You_ could sponsor me," Peter points out. It's not the first time he's brought the subject up, and he's not very hopeful.

"You're going to be late," Talia says, confirming to Peter that she just doesn't care about his happiness at all. Not if it doesn't conform to her idea of how his life should look.

Peter nods jerkily. "Fine." He doesn't stomp out to the car. He's not that immature. But fuck, he sure wants to.

* * *

School is predictable. Everyone seems to be doing some over-dramatic mating dance with each other. It's bizarre, really, and Peter wants nothing to do with it. He pays attention in class, always sits at the front, does his work, and tries to ignore the other students.

At lunch, Peter usually sits alone to study and work on homework he has from his morning classes. Today his best friend comes to sit with him, though. 

"Ugh," Marin says when she plops down beside him. "I'm so sick of alphas."

"Tell me about it," Peter says without looking up from his homework.

"That new teacher, Harris? Accused me of flirting with him to get a better grade! As if I would _ever_ ," Marin says with a shudder.

Peter scoffs. "Some people should never teach."

"My grades are phenomenal. I don't need to flirt with nasty-ass alphas to get them, either!"

"You don't need to tell me," Peter points out. "You're doing as good as I am. If you were in my class you'd be real competition."

Marin beams and leans against his shoulder.

"So, what are you doing about Harris?" Peter asks, leaning back against her.

"I'm telling Alan." She laughs, and Peter laughs with her. Marin's brother is scary when he's protective.

The bell rings, and Peter packs his books away. Marin leans in before he gets up. "Are you baking for tomorrow?" she asks.

"I wasn't planning on it," Peter replies, feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he does love baking, and he recently found a recipe from the eighties for something called hummingbird cake and wants to adapt it for cupcakes. He can take his experiment to the picnic. But on the _other_ hand… "I don't want anyone to think I'm perfect mate material because I bake."

Marin laughs loudly, and several people turn to see her. She shakes her head, trying to get her laughter under control. "God, Peter! No one will _ever_ think that about you!"

Peter's not sure if he's relieved or insulted.

* * *

The Founder's Day picnic is a yearly event in Beacon County when everyone converges on Heritage Park in the middle of Beacon Hills. They set up chairs and blankets, eat good food (brought in by seemingly all the omegas in the county), listen to live bands, browse the various craft vendors, play wholesome games of chance like the ring toss or BB gun target shooting, or chuck balls at a target for the dunking booth to dunk various county personalities like teachers or town council members. There are beauty pageants for omegas in all age groups, including the 'glamorous grandparents' show.

There's a baking contest that Peter has been tempted to enter, but the unmated alphas watch it closely; every pie is a dating profile for them to peruse. In fact, alphas roam the picnic on the lookout for fresh young omegas as if that was the whole idea of Founder's Day.

Peter enjoys a lot of things about the picnic, but that is not one of them. Neither does he like that as a Hale, he's _required_ , by Talia, to attend, as if the whole county will ostracize them if he doesn't. Because Hales founded Beacon Hills, and Hales are still a pretty big deal in the county to a lot of people.

There's even a statue in the park of one of Peter's ancestors. Hales have to sit in a particular elevated spot during the picnic. And Talia, good citizen that she is (and who is considering running for mayor, but shhh tell no one), announces the start of the day after the parade. Which she and Joseph are in. 

It's a little too much. Peter thinks it's ridiculous. 

"Which ones are yours?" Talia whisper-yells over the noise when they go up to one of the heavily food-laden tables to get lunch. 

"You made something?" a kid's excited voice asks. Peter looks down to see a little boy with bright brown eyes grinning up him. A quick whiff of him proves he's an alpha, though his scent isn't as offensively strong as some. Probably because he's so young.

No one else is looking, so what's the harm? Peter points to the cupcakes he made, which came out pretty damn good, if he's any judge.

The little boy quickly grabs a hummingbird cupcake and says, "The apple pie you made last year was _magic_."

Peter tries not to show how pleased he is. "Last year I brought brownies."

The boy's eyes are rolling back as he chews his cupcake. "Nuh uh," he says, then remembers his manners and covers his mouth. He keeps talking, though. "You brought brownies the year before. I remember! They had cherries in them and flaked almonds on top!"

Peter frowns and tries to remember. 

Talia laughs. "I think he's right."

The boy finishes his bite, wipes his hand on his jeans, and holds it out for Peter to shake. "I'm Stiles."

Peter dislikes children generally, and alphas even more. But this one seems harmless. "I'm Peter."

"I know," Stiles says, his eyes much more serious. "Thanks for the cupcake. I'll see you later!" He grabs another of Peter's cupcakes and runs off like a streak of lightning. Vaguely, he hears the boy's yell of 'Mom! Guess what?' across the green.

"See? You're good with children," Talia tells him.

Peter rolls his eyes and walks off with only half a plate of food. He doesn't need another of these 'talks' in which his sister tries to convince him how happy he'd be if he just had babies.

* * *

The picnic goes on. Peter meets up with Marin and they listen to Marin's brother's band play for about half an hour. The music reminds Peter of old wartime music his grandmother used to listen to, but with a more modern twist. Is it modern swing? Jazz? Peter asks Marin.

"Trip hop!" she answers above the music.

Peter's certain it isn't, but if that's what Alan wants to call it, fine. Peter's not the genre police.

The crowd doesn't seem to know if they like it or not. But then Alan's set is up and a more popular local band hits the gazebo 'stage' to wild applause. Bored, Peter wanders back to his family's spot in the park, Marin chattering about her brother by his side.

"He really has gotten better," she's saying. "Hey, have you noticed something weird about this year's picnic?"

"It's not as annoying," Peter says. 

"I haven't seen an Overture. Not one." Marin lowers her voice. "Isn't that kind of weird?"

"There are fewer and fewer unmated omegas around," Peter suggests.

"Nobody's ever invited _me_ to court," Marin says. "Not that I want it! But I'm starting to get a little self-conscious. I'm pretty and smart, and I'm not totally against getting mated… someday."

"You're totally beautiful, and practically a genius," Peter tells her seriously. "It's just that Alan's threatened all the alphas and told them you need to at least finish high school."

Marin looks stunned, but then she smiles brightly. "I've got the best brother."

Peter's happy she has a supportive family. He's not bitter about his own at all. He can't help the comparison, though. If only Talia was a little more overprotective and sensitive to his actual wants and needs.

Then the band strikes up an oldie, one of those songs that would have been sung by Etta James or Frank Sinatra back in the day. Pretty standard for an Overture. Peter groans. "Here we go."

" _Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you…_ " the band's singer croons.

Peter sits down in his chair and looks around, wondering who it's going to be this time.

He's grateful for his werewolf hearing. Otherwise, he wouldn't know something unusual was afoot. 

"Oh, no," someone whispers. Someone else laughs outright. And then there's more laughter, and, "I can't believe it!" from a different person.

Peter twists his head, trying to look, but he should have been looking in front of him. When he does look, he sees the crowd parting in front of him. Great, an Overture for _him_. Well, he's not going to make it easy.

He sits back in his chair and puts on a bored expression. Whoever this alpha is, they're going to have to work for his attention.

But the laughter and occasional dismayed reaction have him curious. 

So he turns, and at first his gaze goes right over the alpha approaching. Over his head, because he's short — a _child_. It's Stiles, the boy who complimented his baking. Peter meets the boy's eyes and the first thing he notices is the determination.

The kid is nervous as hell, but his chin is up and he's still walking toward Peter. Everyone has stilled around them, watching the spectacle. The boy is holding something in his hands, a small box. The Overture gift. 

And Peter almost thinks this is a joke. The people around them in the park — a very public venue, a bold move for the boy — seem to think it's a great comedy. But the boy's face is red and he has a little frown between his eyebrows like he's concentrating on every step. When someone nearby lets out a sharp bark of laughter, the kid doesn't falter. He frowns harder. He walks up the steps to where Peter is and stops a few feet away.

"Peter Hale," he boy begins with his solemn, pre-pubescent voice. He's got to be what, ten, eleven? "My name is Stiles Stilinski, and this is my Overture." Then he gets down on one knee, an old fashioned gesture, and offers up his gift.

Peter is too curious not to accept. He takes the box, noting that it's too light for anything substantial.

Deucalion had offered a gold and diamond bracelet. It had been gaudy and stupid, but Peter had been impressed with the expense the alpha had gone to. Now, he thinks of that bracelet as a manacle. Deuc had basically wanted a slave to breed. Sure, he would have showered Peter in designer clothes and good jewelry, but it was like the bird in a gilded cage. Peter would have been trapped.

Now, he wonders what this child thinks is a good Overture gift. Peter's gone this far, he might as well open the box. So he does, but then he's stunned by what's inside.

Nothing. The box is empty. He narrows his eyes and looks down at the boy. Stiles.

"I think you forgot to put your gift inside," Peter snarks. Several people guffaw.

But Stiles shakes his head. "I want to give you the future, and that doesn't fit into a box."

"The... future?" Peter asks.

"I don't have anything to offer you right now. I'm eleven. I don't have an education or a job or a house of my own, or anything like that. But I _will_ have all that, and I promise to work hard for the future."

Peter's eyes narrow as he counts how many years until Stiles would be able to provide for an Omega. Not in derision, though, not like so many onlookers seem to think. In contemplation.

Stiles stays kneeling, looking up at Peter with hope in his eyes. But the longer Peter quietly thinks, the less hopeful the child looks. And Peter may be an asshole, but he's not a monster.

"You're very brave," Peter tells him.

Stiles blinks at him, but he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't break the protocol of the Overture. He's given his gift, explained its significance, and now it's up to Peter to accept or deny.

Peter has had a thought, but he needs more time to make a decision. He… he needs to think this through. He can't deny the Overture, then. He looks at the assembled townspeople, all hanging on the moment. He looks over at his family, who are still and silent themselves.

He looks to the side and sees an alpha and omega looking on, sees the resemblance to Stiles in the omega. Under her breath, she earnestly whispers, "Please don't break his heart."

"I accept your Overture," Peter murmurs. "Stand up now. Come here."

When he accepted Deuc's Overture, the cocky alpha smirked and acted like it was his due. _Of course_ Peter would accept. But this boy...

The smile that breaks out over Stiles's face is like the sun breaking over the horizon after a night-long storm. It's bright and full of hope and happiness. Peter tries not to let it affect him.

Peter holds out his hand. It's another old tradition, but since Stiles knelt for his Overture, Peter thinks it only fits. Stiles immediately bows low, pressing his lips against the back of Peter's hand.

"Thank you." Stiles's eyes practically glow when he looks up. "I promise you won't regret it."

* * *

Peter's not sure. Maybe he _will_ regret it.

"Now that you've accepted publicly, you can let him down easy in private," Talia says. It's past dark now, and they're all tired as they ride home in the family minivan. "He's young; he'll get over it."

"It's Peter's decision," Joseph says quietly from the passenger seat.

"First of all, the boy is human," Talia says, going on as if she hasn't heard. "Secondly, he's _eleven_. What on earth does he think he has to offer?"

_A future?_ Peter wonders, looking out the window as the street lights zoom by. He can hear the boy say the word, can see his own dreams stretching out before him like a taunt. Or a promise.

"Stiles is in my class," Cora says. "He doesn't make fun of me for liking alpha toys or clothes or anything. He says there's no such thing as alpha stuff and omega stuff, that I should just like what I like." She says it to Talia like she's challenging her. Peter smirks against the glass but doesn't look up.

"Where's Laura?" Derek asks from the back. 

"She's spending the night with her basketball team friends," Joseph says.

Peter tried out for the basketball team. Well, he attempted to. The coach said they didn't have time to coddle omegas and told Peter to try out for softball. Laura laughed at the time. Later, at home, she said there was nothing she could do.

One day, Peter's going to fight against assholes like that coach and the school that keeps him on. He's going to clear the path for omegas like Cora who want to do 'alpha stuff'. But he has to be in the right position, first. He needs an education. A degree. To get that, he needs an alpha to sponsor him.

Would Stiles stand behind him? Or will he lie the way Deucalion did? 

"You're being quiet about this," Talia says to Peter. "What are you going to do about the kid?"

"I haven't decided yet," Peter says, finally looking at her.

"Well, do it fast. You shouldn't leave him with all that hope."

Peter's phone is vibrating in his pocket. He's sure Marin has heard about the Overture by now and wants to know what's going on. She can wait.

"His father is running for Sheriff," Joseph says, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Yes, and he has a good chance of winning, too," Talia murmurs. She pulls into their driveway and parks, then looks at her mate. "But you can't possibly think that makes the boy suitable."

Peter doesn't care that the boy is human. He could be a werewolf, or a fucking were-unicorn, for all that. What matters, really, is the long courtship time. Time Peter can use as breathing room before he has to start a family.

He hops out of the van and saunters into the house as if he has no cares. No worries. It's a front he's perfected over the years. Not many can see through it.

His phone vibrates again and he takes it up to his room.

"We're not finished talking here," Talia calls after him, and Peter's tempted to just flip her off. 

"I've got to call Marin," he tells her instead, yelling down the stairs.

Talia sighs loud enough for the sound to carry. Peter hears Joseph say, "Let's just unwind for awhile, Tally."

Peter closes his bedroom door and locks it. The lock came after several battles with his sister about Peter's privacy. He's grateful he eventually won that war. His room is soundproofed, too. Sometimes he even pretends he has a small apartment of his own, far away from his sister and the rest of the pack.

He sits at his desk and FaceTimes Marin. When the call connects, Marin is grinning already.

"So I heard you got another Overture," she says.

"What'd you hear?" Peter asks, wondering how much information he'll have to fill in.

"It came from dubious sources, but apparently a kindergartener wants to be your mate. Tell me the truth, Peter. What the hell happened?"

"Your dubious sources are incorrect," Peter says. He leans back in his chair but arranges the screen so he can still see her. "Stiles said he's eleven."

"Is that even legal?" Marin asks dubiously.

Peter glances at the dated legal texts that line one of his walls, the only ones he could afford. He's pretty sure the laws are the same, though. "Yeah, any alpha can offer an Overture, as long as he's competent. Age doesn't factor into the equation. He's got an alpha parent to sign for him if a contract is drawn up." Or if Peter needs a sponsor for college.

"That's ridiculous," Marin says. She's frowning. "I mean, completely ridiculous. We're not allowed to make choices for ourselves until we're twenty-one, and that even comes with conditions!"

"I know. One second they tell us we're too young to make decisions, but you know what? Talia is quick to tell me I'm old enough to settle down and have pups."

"It's backward. We're living in a backward society, Peter."

"I'm wearing off on you," Peter says with a grin. "You hardly ever say stuff like this."

"The older I get, the more I see it," Marin says. "And you've opened my eyes to a lot of the injustice." She sighs. "Sometimes I wish I never understood just how… just how bad it was. Like, living it, you know it sucks. There are all these expectations and stereotypes and roadblocks. But sometimes you learn more about it and it just…" She trails off, looking like she could cry.

"But Alan can sponsor you to go to college, right?"

"He said he would if Mom won't. But that's just one thing. It's possible I won't even get in."

"You have amazing grades," Peter points out.

"Let's stop talking about me and get back to you," Marin says. "Though let me add — I don't have the extracurriculars colleges like to see."

Peter sighs. He doesn't either. He needs to get on that.

"But okay, back to you. What are you gonna do?"

"Cheerleading?" Peter says, sarcasm dripping.

Marin snickers. "I mean with the kid. What are you going to do about the Overture? The one you _accepted_? Wait, was the gossip wrong about that one, too? I heard you told him yes."

"I didn't turn him down," Peter says slowly. "I couldn't- You didn't see him, Marin. He looked so…determined. And when I said yes, he looked so happy." The last part is murmured.

"Since when do you care about some random alpha's feelings?" Marin asks.

She's right. Since when? "Maybe it was because he's a kid. I didn't want to break his heart in front of the whole county."

"Ah, public spectacle pressure. That was shitty of him, actually," Marin says.

Peter finds himself defending the boy. "It's actually traditional to ask a Hale at the Founders Day picnic."

"And he's going to win you over going the traditional route," Marin says dubiously.

"Talia thinks I'm going to let him down gently in private," Peter murmurs.

Marin's eyebrows raise. "You're not?"

Peter bites at his thumbnail and shrugs.

"Okay, maybe I'm missing something here, but in what world do you want to be mated this young? Or… courted, anyway."

"It would be a long courtship," Peter points out. 

Marin's quiet for a moment. "And you think you might get some freedom out of this."

"It's worth thinking about," Peter defends. "Look, I have two years of high school left. He'd still just be thirteen or fourteen then. Then four years of college until Stiles is eighteen. By that time, I'd be past my twenty-first. If I time it right, I can get an education _and_ my freedom."

"You're going to string him along for six or seven years?" Marin asks. "Isn't that kind of… cruel?"

Peter winces. "I mean. Like you said, since when do I care about the feelings of alphas?"

"But he'd be courting you the entire time," Marin says. "You'd get to know him. You'd have to play nice. And I know you, Peter. You get attached."

"Then maybe he'd be open to a deal."

Marin blinks and the video pixelates. "What kind of deal?" she asks, sounding suspicious.

"I haven't figured that part out yet."

"This is going to be another one of your crazy schemes, isn't it?" Marin asks.

"My schemes aren't crazy. And they work, don't they?" Peter says.

"Eh," Marin says.

Peter sighs. "Okay, sometimes they backfire on me. But that's not usually my fault."

"You take things too far, Peter," Marin says, but she sounds more amused than chastising. That's one of the things Peter loves about her. (He gets enough disapproval from his sister.) He's glad Marin's his BFF.

* * *

Peter has two weeks to make some sort of declaration. Traditionally, it would be something called the Recognition, but that's fallen out of favor in modern times because it's so involved. Nowadays, there's a recognition, with a lower-case R. Basically, Peter has to procure a small gift (something that complements Stiles's Overture gift), and present it to his intended alpha.

Peter spends the first few days endlessly debating what to do. He makes several pro/con lists. At home, he paces restlessly in his room as he wonders what to do. At school, he snaps at anyone who tries to talk to him, even Marin a few times.

"I know you're processing right now, but you don't have to treat me like shit because of it," she says two days into this treatment. 

Peter looks up from his scribbled notebook page. It takes him a moment to parse what she said, and then he feels like an asshole. Which he is, but not usually to Marin.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you," he mutters.

"Okay," Marin says. "I'm going to just get lunch alone."

Peter frowns. "You can sit with me."

Marin sighs. Smiles fondly. "I'll pass. I think I'll just wait until you've made a decision."

In class, he's distracted. One of his teachers takes him aside and asks if everything is okay at home. Peter's embarrassed. He's always done well in school. 

"It's fine, everything's… fine. I just have something on my mind."

"I heard about the Overture," his teacher says.

"I think everyone has," Peter says dryly.

His teacher smiles. "Well, if you recognize and decide to pursue this, I hope you stay in school. You're a good student."

Some omegas drop out even before they're mated, if they have a good prospect. Would Stiles expect him to do that?

Maybe his plan wouldn't work at all. Maybe the Stilinskis are traditionalists. Okay, maybe not Stiles, but his alpha father? The one who'd hold the reins in the relationship?

He needs to talk to Stiles. And John Stilinski, too.

"Peter?" his teacher calls after him, but Peter barely hears him. He has to think some more.

* * *

He thinks he knows what he's going to do, but he has to make sure it's the right decision. He has to talk to the Stilinskis.

He gets dressed and looks in the mirror. "Fuck," he whispers. He hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in a week and a half and it shows. He runs a hand through his hair but that just makes it look more disheveled. 

It'll have to do. On his way out the door, though, Talia stops him.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"Out. To see Stiles, actually," Peter says. He doesn't have to tell her, but he wants to see her reaction.

"Like I said before, he's young. He'll get over a little heartbreak," she says with what Peter assumes is supposed to be an understanding smile.

"I haven't decided _what_ I'm doing yet," Peter says, jutting out his chin. 

Talia's smile turns to a frown in an instant. "Peter, he's a child. He's not mate material."

"Neither am I," Peter points out. "Maybe that means we're meant for each other."

"Peter, you'd do well if you just… accepted that you're an omega. You can't do all the things in your silly dreams. None of us can, really."

"It's not being an omega that's the problem," Peter answers truthfully, trying to ignore the sting of her words but not succeeding. "It's the expectation that I'm going to let it rule my life!"

Talia is clearly frustrated now. "Why can't you just find a good mate and settle down?"

"I'd rather die than be mated this young!" Peter cries out. He's sure the entire house can hear him now.

"Peter, don't be so dramatic," Talia says with a tsk. "You know you don't mean that."

"I'm sixteen and in no way am I ready for a mate and children," Peter says, trying to calm down.

Talia's mouth thins even more.

Peter tries a different tack. "Maybe Stiles is the right alpha for me. Maybe he's-"

"Let him go, Talia," Joseph says, coming into the room. "Give him some space to make his own decisions."

"But-"

"Tally," Joseph interrupts again. Totally out of character for him, really. "You're not his mother."

It could have been harsh, but coming from Joseph it's a gentle reminder for them both.

For Talia, maybe that she could ease off and Peter will be okay. For Peter, though, it reminds him of his mother. Or rather her situation, and how she died. He was young but it's affected him greatly. Talia raised him from then on, even though she had her own children.

Talia gives Peter a considering look. "Go, then."

Joseph smiles at Peter, and Peter takes a breath. "I really don't know what I'm going to do."

"Follow your heart," is Joseph's advice.

Talia and Peter both snort. Peter says, "I'm not sure I have one of those."

Joseph rolls his eyes. "Sure, tough guy."

Cora is standing in the doorway to the hall. Peter doesn't know how much of the conversation she heard. She's so young. Maybe by the time she's Peter's age, things will be different, but probably not. 

Peter firms his jaw and takes off.

* * *

It's only after he's rung the Stilinski doorbell that he remembers what he looks like, so when the front door opens, he's still frantically attempting to put his hair in order. 

"Mr. Stilinski," Peter greets awkwardly, holding out a hand. "Peter Hale. Good to meet you."

Behind the man, he hears thundering footsteps coming in fast. "Dad, who is it?" Stiles's asks.

Mr. Stilinski gives Peter a disapproving glare and calls behind him, "No one, go back to your mother." Then he steps outside, shouldering Peter out of the way and closing the door behind himself. "I think we should have a talk."

"Yes, sir," Peter says, dropping his hand. 

"It's Deputy Stilinski, by the way," the older man says. He has a commanding alpha presence that makes Peter bristle. "Why are you here?"

Peter tells himself to calm down. "I wanted to talk to Stiles."

Deputy Stilinski raises his brows. "Did you bring a gift, or are you here to break his heart?"

"Neither, sir," Peter says, swallowing hard. When the alpha's frown becomes apparent, Peter rushes to explain. "I'm not sure what to do yet, that's all. I wanted to talk to Stiles. See if he was serious."

"That Overture didn't give it away?" Stilinski asks dryly.

Peter smiles a little. He thinks that's allowed. "He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what kind of… of life I want. I wanted to talk to him about it."

"I'm listening," Stilinski says.

The front door opens and an omega peeks her head out. As soon as she sees them, she frowns. "John, leave that poor boy alone."

Deputy Stilinski turns around, looking guilty. "Claudia! We were just talking."

"You were being an overprotective father," the woman says, and smiles at Peter. "Hello. I'm Claudia, Stiles's mom."

"Peter Hale," he answers, and holds out his hand. The odds of her shaking it are much better.

Claudia shakes his hand warmly and then lightly shoves her mate away. "Let me talk to him."

Deputy Stilinski looks dubious, but he sighs and nods his head. "Fine. I'll be inside with Stiles."

They watch as he goes in, and then Claudia turns to Peter. "What do you want to know?"

"How did you know I didn't want to come give my recognition?" Peter asks curiously.

"No empty box," Claudia says, pointing to his hands. 

Peter did bring an empty box, to match Stiles's Overture gift. But… "It's in the car."

Claudia smiles broadly. "I like you, Peter. Not just because my son is smitten with you, either."

"Rather a snap judgement," Peter says dryly.

Claudia laughs. "You and Stiles are going to get along so well. Tell me what's on your mind."

Peter drags in a breath. "I want to go to college," he says bravely. Ready for anything.

But Claudia just nods. "Of course. What else?"

"I…" Peter's brain stutters to a halt. "What?"

"I said, 'Of course,'" Claudia says. "Of course you want to go to college. You're an intelligent young man with the future ahead of you. Stiles will be going to college, too."

"That's different," Peter says.

"Why, because he's an alpha?" Claudia asks outright.

Peter nods without saying anything.

Claudia smiles. "I went to college. I majored in early childhood development. It was a war getting my mother to let me go, but in the end, it happened for me. Just like it's going to happen for you."

"I want more out of life than just a mate and a family," Peter says slowly. He swallows hard. "I want to make a difference in the world."

Claudia takes a breath and looks like she wants to say something to that, but then the door opens again and Stiles stands in the threshold. His eyes light up. "Peter?"

* * *

The gift box is in the car where he first left it, but Peter doesn't think he'll need it. What he has to offer isn't something you can put in a box, anyway. Much like Stiles's Overture gift.

"Can we talk?" he asks Stiles. His hands are shaking so he puts them in his pockets, feigns nonchalance. Or maybe he looks sheepish or shy. 

Something makes Stiles frown, but then he's nodding enthusiastically and saying, "Come in? Or if you don't want to come in yet, we can talk outside. Or wherever."

Peter feels his lips pull up into a smile without his permission. "I guess I can come in." He's curious about the Stilinski den anyway. Well, house, since they're human, but it still feels like he's entering the heart of their family when he steps over the threshold.

Everything hits him all at once — the light from the lamps in the living room, the comfortable-looking furniture, the plush carpet under his feet, and the scent of happiness and _home_ all around him. He doesn't know how else to describe the smells. The deputy and Claudia's scents are everywhere, neither stronger than the other, but entwined and comfortable together, if scents could feel such things. Over, around, and wriggling through is Stiles's scent, that of an immature alpha who is loved and happy and who loves and gives happiness in return. Werewolves always say they can learn a lot from the scent of a place, but Peter's never been so conscious of that fact as he is now. The Stilinski home is just that — a happy home with a happy family. It's almost enough to make him tear up. His own house is nothing like this.

Stiles is looking up at him worriedly. "Are you okay?" 

Peter swallows his emotions. "Acclimating to new scents."

Stiles's eyes get big. "Do we stink?"

"No," Peter laughs. "No. Just sometimes someone's home is… it's a concentrated dose of who they are as a family. It just hit me in the face and I needed a moment to process."

Stiles nods. "I've never heard that before. I guess I don't know as much about werewolves as I thought."

"It's not a… not something we talk about. It's not that important, really," Peter says.

"I want to know everything," Stiles says.

"About werewolves?" Peter asks curiously.

"About everything," the deputy says from behind Stiles. 

Peter startles. Even with Peter's senses and awareness, he'd momentarily forgotten the Stilinskis were still there. For some reason, the world had temporarily narrowed down to just Stiles and him, and now he's flustered.

Peter feels like apologizing but he's not sure why. He glances over at Claudia, who's looking on with a knowing expression. She says, "John, let's give Stiles and Peter some space. They need to talk."

John frowns. "There should be a chaperone."

Claudia pulls him along by his shirtsleeve. "We're just going into the kitchen." And then they disappear into another room and Peter is left alone with Stiles.

"You wanna sit down?" Stiles asks.

Peter feels flustered, which isn't something he has to deal with regularly. He tries to cover it up with an aloof mask, but he doubts it works because Stiles just looks worried again.

"Or we can stand," Stiles says. "Was there some reason you came here? Or… you wanted to tell me something, or ask me, or-"

"Ask," Peter says. "I wanted to ask you… something. I sort of already told your mom, but." He knows that's a terrible place to leave a sentence, but he doesn't know what comes next.

"You don't have to be nervous," Stiles says. He's perceptive for a kid, and Peter's not sure he likes that.

Peter doesn't bother denying he's nervous. He decides to sit down after all. He skips over the chair that smells like the deputy and sits on the couch. It's a lot more comfortable than any sofa at home. For a moment, Stiles looks like he's not sure where to sit either, but then he sits on the sofa beside Peter. Close enough for conversation, but not crowding Peter. 

Peter takes a deep breath. "I want to talk about the future."

Stiles nods eagerly. There's a brightness in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago, and Peter finds he doesn't mind it. Usually, eager alphas put him off, but Stiles is young and enthusiastic and kind of adorable about it.

"I don't know if I want you to be my mate," Peter says. Stiles is human, he doesn't have to tell the whole truth, but looking at him now, Peter decides he shouldn't lie outright. He can't do that to this kid. He'll use him, but he's not going to tell him pretty lies of a rosy future. "I don't know you. And if I did, you're still young. People change. Who you are now might not be who you are once you're of age to mate."

Stiles frowns, but he nods and motions for Peter to go on. Then he sits on his hands and wiggles a little.

Peter takes a deep breath again. He's doing that a lot. "But I'm willing to give you a chance. But only under some conditions."

"Of course, that's fair. What do you want?" Stiles asks eagerly.

"I want what you offered — a future. But not just yours. I want my own. I want-" Peter cuts himself off to take another deep breath. And then another. He's not used to talking about this stuff with someone who doesn't immediately shoot him down. He has to remind himself he doesn't have to be hostile about it. 

"Go on," Stiles says gently. "Take your time." Peter shoots him an incredulous look and Stiles shrugs. "That's what people are always telling me."

Peter smiles at that, then nods. He takes another slow breath. "I'm not sure what I want to do with my life, but I know I want a career. Purpose. I want to work for omega rights. I don't know if that means working for a nonprofit or becoming an attorney or maybe even both. And that means… that means school. Lots of it. And maybe focusing on my career before I have children." He doesn't cringe but he doesn't puff up looking for a fight, either. He's not sure how Stiles will react. He can't look at him.

"Peter," Stiles says. "I think that's amazing."

Peter bites his lip, afraid to get excited. Not yet. "My sister won't sponsor me. I don't have a college fund, but I do have a trust that will pay for college if I make a good enough case for it."

"My father will sponsor you," Stiles says adamantly.

"How can you be so sure?" Peter asks. "I don't think he likes me."

Stiles laughs. "He's just protective of me. He thinks you'll break my heart."

"I might," Peter says seriously.

"I'll take the chance," Stiles says quietly, looking at Peter like he hung the moon.

"Why?" Peter asks.

"I'll tell you sometime. Not tonight, though."

This makes Peter more curious, but not enough to push the subject.

"I want to offer you something in return," Peter says. "If you're giving me the future…"

"Just let me court you," Stiles says. "That's what I want."

"I'm not one of those traditional omegas who's going to give you a formal Recognition," Peter warns.

Stiles grins. "I didn't think you were."

"But, um, I recognize you as the alpha who can court me, and try to win me, and I'll… give you a fair chance," Peter says, rattling off the informal recognition words. He's not sure if the last part is a lie or the truth.

"Can I kiss you?" Stiles asks, and Peter is once again taken aback by the way the boy's eyes shine with happiness. For Peter.

"You're eleven," Peter reminds him.

Stiles smiles sheepishly. "On the cheek?"

"Yeah, okay," Peter says, and leans in so Stiles can reach.

Stiles's lips are slightly damp, and when he pulls away he leaves a cool spot on Peter's cheek. He's blushing. Peter smirks and leans in to kiss Stiles's pink cheek in reply. 

It's not a traditional beginning, but nothing about this is normal. Peter thinks he likes it that way.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter and Stiles have a weekly date. Sometimes they go out to the local diner where they eat burgers and curly fries and split a milkshake, but most weeks they stay in, watching movies or playing video games.

At first, it's just a good excuse to get away from Talia, but once Peter gets to know Stiles better, he starts looking forward to these 'dates'. Stiles is smart and inquisitive, always ready to learn something — or share what he's recently learned. He's young, but he's clever, and not once does he have trouble following what Peter is saying unless it's about schoolwork Stiles doesn't have experience with yet. (And if it's something that interests him, he comes back the next week having researched and learned more than Peter knew in the first place.)

Stiles talks. A lot. But he also stops to give Peter the chance to give input, and always acts as if he cares what Peter has to say. 

"Before I got to know him, I had this idea of teaching him how to be a good alpha, you know?" Peter tells Marin over FaceTime one night after he's gotten back from the Stilinski house. 

"I remember," Marin says. "What changed?"

Peter shrugs. He doesn't want to say it out loud.

Marin laughs, though. "Don't tell me he's already the perfect alpha."

"He's young," Peter mutters. "He still has plenty of time to turn into a stereotypical knothead."

"Maybe not," Marin says. "From what you said about his parents, he has good role models. And he's got to know by now that you'll break the courtship if he fucks up."

"Would I, though?" Peter wonders aloud. "He's still a long way away from his eighteenth birthday." Being in a long courtship is a type of freedom Peter never imagined before Stiles.

"Okay, enough about your alpha," Marin says. "How's your science project coming along?"

They chat a little while longer about school work, their projects, and an upcoming test. But in the back of Peter's mind, he's still thinking about Stiles.

* * *

Date night. John and Claudia have already cleared from the living room, leaving Stiles and Peter on their own. Stiles is acting a little strange, shifting from foot to foot, holding a hand behind his back. 

Peter raises an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Stiles brings his hand forward and presents a small box. "This is for you."

"Is it my birthday and I forgot?" Peter asks.

Stiles shakes his head and mumbles something. 

"What was that?" Peter asks, taking the box. It's light.

"It's been a year since you accepted my Overture," Stiles says.

"Already?" Peter asks. 

Stiles smiles. "Admit it, you've been having so much fun, the time just flew by."

"You're not too far off base," Peter says. "I didn't get you anything."

"It's okay. I'm courting you, not the other way around."

Peter nods and tears the paper from the wrapped present. Inside is a woven bracelet, brown and blue. 

"I made it," Stiles says before Peter can comment. "It's a friendship bracelet. I made one for Scott, too, and Heather."

If Stiles hadn't called it a friendship bracelet, Peter might have felt the urge to decline it. Ever since Deucalion's gift, Peter's had an aversion to anything that might go on the wrist or ankle. His brain likens them to shackles, especially coming from alphas. 

"Thank you," Peter says. "Will you tie it on me?"

Stiles grins happily. "So you like it?"

"I do. And it's the color of our eyes," Peter says. "A lovely combination."

"I was afraid you'd think it was immature. But we've got to be friends before anything else, right? That's important," Stiles says earnestly.

"You're absolutely right," Peter says. 

The hug that follows isn't unexpected, but its intensity is surprising. Stiles even scent marks Peter's neck with his cheek, something he's rarely done.

Then he stands back, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. Was that too much?"

Peter reaches out and rubs his hand on Stiles's shoulder, giving a little of his own scent back. "No, that was fine."

Stiles beams, then keeps his smile for the rest of the night.

* * *

Time moves slowly and quickly at random intervals. Peter thinks he'll be a junior in high school forever, but then suddenly he's a senior and it's his last year. He gets a few requests for dates sometimes, but most people know he's in a courtship and don't bother. It's nice to have that excuse. 

Marin's a year younger than he is, but with some family advocacy and her stellar grades, she's able to move up to be with Peter in the 12th grade. Which is why she's in his AP classes and gets to spend most of the day with him now.

"Something's on your mind," Peter says. He's been watching her squirm and daydream all morning.

"Am I that obvious?" Marin asks.

"Maybe not to anyone who's not your best friend," Peter concedes. "Want to talk about it?"

Marin looks around. "Not here."

They're in the lunchroom and Peter knows a few weres will be able to hear her when she talks, so he suggests, "The library?"

She fiddles with the top of her milk carton. "Let's talk after school, okay?"

Peter nods and changes the conversation, hoping to take the edge off Marin's mood. "I saw you got an A on the chemistry test."

Marin's lips twitch. "Piece of cake."

"It really wasn't," Peter gripes. "I got a B."

Marin grimaces. "Oh no. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just one test."

"But you know Harris doesn't do extra credit."

"I've got all A's in chemistry so far," Peter says. "This shouldn't pull my grade down. Much. As long as I keep on keeping on."

"Still want to go to Stanford?" Marin asks. 

"You know I do," Peter says. "What about you?"

Marin sighs. "I don't want to go so far away from Beacon Hills. We have a perfectly good community college, and I won't have to jump through hoops to prove I'm competent enough to go there, either."

BHCC was letting omegas enroll while places like Stanford were still debating the issue. There's a lot they don't offer, though, and Peter wants as many opportunities as he can get his hands on. 

"Oh, I forgot to say: BHCC is adding an Omega Studies class in the fall semester," Marin says. She smiles at him and he smiles back.

"That's awesome," Peter says. "I hope they don't fuck it up."

"They got Julia Baccari to teach it," Marin says with a twinkle in her eye.

Peter sits back, stunned. Peter has all of Julia Baccari's books. He's got the one documentary that was made about her eight years ago. He has one letter she sent in response to the rambling, excited one he sent when he was a kid, when he first found her. _Julia Baccari_.

"I thought you'd like that," Marin says with a laugh. 

"What's Julia Baccari doing at BHCC? The last I heard, she was lecturing at Berkeley. Beacon Hills has to be a giant step down for her. Why would she come here?"

Marin shrugs. "I'm just telling you what I heard."

Peter can't stop thinking about it. He thinks about it for the rest of the day. He almost forgets Marin needs to talk after school, but then he sees her wave her brother off when he offers her a ride home.

Peter beckons her over. "C'mon, let's go for a ride."

Inside the car (Talia's, but she lets Peter borrow it for school), Marin fidgets and clasps her hands. 

"Start talking whenever you want," Peter says. "No rush." Once they've been driving for a bit, Peter pulls off the road to head into the preserve.

"I need a favor," Marin says. "Can you take over babysitting Scott McCall for a little while? Just until the McCalls find someone else."

Peter parks in a clearing and frowns at her. "I thought you liked Scott?"

"He's not the problem," Marin says, twisting her fingers around each other. 

"Is it the dad?" Peter asks. He narrows his eyes. "Is Rafe McCall harassing you?"

Marin hangs her head. "He's a jerk and I hate him, but no. I mean, no more than any other cocky alpha."

"I'm just going to keep asking questions until you tell me what's wrong," Peter says.

Marin gets out of the car. Peter follows. 

"You ever wish things were as simple as society says it is?" Marin asks. "Like, part of me wants to just find a mate, settle down, have babies, and be _happy_."

"No," Peter says.

Marin sighs. "It just would be so much easier than reality."

"Marin, please tell me what's going on. I can't help if you don't tell me."

Marin swallows hard. "I think I'm in love," she whispers.

Peter swallows back the immediate cynical answer to that. He doesn't want to be an asshole right now. "With who?" He winces. "Rafe McCall?"

Marin lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "God, I wish it was that easy. No. No, not him."

Peter doesn't say anything else, just waits for his friend to talk some more.

"It's, um, Melissa," Marin says. " _Mrs._ McCall. An omega. I'm totally head over heels in love with an omega."

Peter sucks in a breath. 

Marin turns back to him, tears in her eyes. "Tell me I'm not a freak?"

Peter's terrible at consoling people, but he's an omega after all, and he does have enough empathy for his best friend that he knows what to do. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tight against him. 

"You're not a freak. You might be gay, or queer, or whatever you want to call it, but that doesn't make you a freak. You're _amazing_."

Marin starts to cry. Peter hopes they are tears of relief and not because he messed up.

"I didn't even tell Alan. I didn't know how. What do I do, Peter?"

"I don't know. This is beyond my area of expertise. I think you need, like, gay advice."

There's a queer community center in town, very small and underfunded, but Peter thinks Marin might be able to find a mentor there. He says as much.

"Yeah, I guess. I'll go there. Maybe after I tell Alan?"

"Or before. Or whenever," Peter says. He knows Marin has to be under a lot of stress right now and doesn't want to add pressure to the situation.

Marin backs off a bit from the hug and wipes her eyes.

"So you want me to babysit Scott?" Peter asks.

Marin nods. "Melissa's unattainable and too old for me and it's just painful to be near her." She sniffles. "Plus I regularly want to punch or stab her mate, so. Best I'm not around them for a while."

"Yeah. But don't you need the money?" Peter asks as delicately as he's able.

"Alan can get me a job at the skating rink. So." She shrugs.

"Are you due to watch Scott today?" Peter asks. "Tomorrow?"

"Wednesday. Melissa has today and tomorrow off. And this weekend, Scott's having a sleepover."

"Yeah?" Peter tries not to look too interested, but Marin sees through it.

"You're so sappy. Yes, it's with your tiny alpha."

That ought to be fun. Peter's gotten to the point where he looks forward to spending time with Stiles. He's never babysat him before, though. That might be weird.

* * *

Unfortunately for Peter, his new charge doesn't like him very much. Scott McCall, twelve year old beta, takes one look at Peter on Wednesday afternoon and scowls.

"I don't need a babysitter, and I don't like you," the boy says, and turns around to leave Peter standing at the door.

"Scott, honey, is someone at the door?" Melissa McCall says from the other room. Scott doesn't answer and Peter comes inside despite not being invited in.

"It's me, Mrs. McCall!" Peter calls out.

He doesn't see Scott anywhere now, but he hears a door slam upstairs.

Melissa comes into view. She looks harried, tired. She's wearing blue and purple scrubs. "You must be Peter. I've heard a lot about you," she says with a smile. 

"You have?"

"Stiles might as well be my second son, he's here so much," she says. "I've been hearing about the great Peter Hale for years."

Peter doesn't know what to do with that. "Years?"

Melissa waves off the question like it doesn't matter. "Scott's upset over Marin leaving, and he's already a little jealous of you. It might take some time for him to warm up, but he's a good kid."

Peter nods, taking in all this information as best he can. 

"Rafe should be home in four hours," she goes on. She stills and bites her lip. "If he doesn't show, just call me at the hospital and I'll figure something out."

Peter raises his eyebrows and Melissa sighs.

"We had another fight," she says. "But he _should_ come home." She pats her curls. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Peter says honestly. She's not 'put together' like most older omegas he knows, isn't wearing a lot of makeup or the latest hairstyle. But she looks competent and ready to take on the world. To Peter, that's beautiful.

Melissa laughs. "You know I'm not paying you more if you throw in compliments?"

"First one's free," Peter says with a grin.

She laughs again and Peter can see what Marin is attracted to. 

"Okay, try to get Scott to eat dinner, even if it's just half. He should have his rescue inhaler on him, but there's a spare in the kitchen on top of the fridge if he can't find it."

Marin's already gone over the information about Scott's asthma, so Peter nods. 

"Go on, you don't want to be late," he says.

"Thank you, Peter," Melissa says sincerely.

* * *

That first day, Scott only comes out of his room to eat, and even then he doesn't say a word to Peter. He finishes his macaroni and green beans, puts his plate in the sink, then runs back up to his room.

It should be the easiest money Peter's ever made, but he's starting to worry.

The next day goes about the same, though Scott watches TV in the living room. No commentary, though, not even when Peter tries to start a conversation about what they're watching. Scott doesn't even look at him. 

Peter sighs. He doesn't really care about a random over-stubborn child not liking him, but Scott is Stiles's best friend, after all. 

On the third day, it's time for the sleepover. Melissa says she's working a 12 hour shift, but that Rafe promised he'd come home at 10 PM.

(Peter doesn't like Rafe. He comes and goes and doesn't seem to spend any time with his mate or son. Melissa, when she mentions him, looks miserable. Theirs is not a happy marriage, and Peter hopes Scott isn't learning bad habits from his awful alpha father.)

Stiles is already at the McCall house when Peter arrives, having ridden the school bus with Scott. He lights up when he notices Peter watching him from the living room doorway.

"Peter!" Stiles exclaims, scrambling to get up.

Scott scowls.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your game, just letting you know I'm here," Peter says, but he accepts the hug from Stiles. "You've gotten taller."

Stiles beams at him.

" _Stiles_ ," Scott whines.

"Forget I'm here," Peter says to Stiles. "Have fun with your friend."

Stiles doesn't seem to want to listen. "But-"

Peter pulls out the big guns. "You're here to spend time with your best friend. I'll be very disappointed if you get distracted from that."

Stiles closes his mouth. Scott's falls open. Peter smiles at them both, then heads into the other room. He's pleased to hear Stiles break the silence with a friendly taunt, "Well, are we playing or not?"

* * *

The ten o'clock hour passes, and Rafe doesn't come home. Peter knows Melissa will lose her job if she has to back out of too many shifts, and really, he doesn't mind doing this. He can catch some sleep on the couch once the boys settle. 

Peter sends Melissa a text that he decided to stay overnight, that Melissa should stay at work. She calls him ten minutes later, presumably when she has a lull.

"I can't ask you to stay all night," she says, sounding stressed. "Just give me… another half hour? I think I can get the rest of my shift off if I-"

"Don't worry about it," Peter says lightly. "I don't mind. They're good kids."

"They get together and it's like having twelve of them, I don't think-"

" _Melissa,_ " Peter interrupts. "It really is fine. What time is your shift over?"

"Not until 4," Melissa says with a sigh. "Are you sure?"

Peter's not usually so altruistic, but he likes Melissa, and the boys aren't really that much trouble. "I'm sure. I'll see you when you get in."

"Have you eaten?" she asks. She's such a mom.

"Yes. You don't have to worry about me," Peter says. He hears some kind of alarm going off on the other end, and isn't surprised when Melissa has to go.

After the call ends, Peter puts the phone down and goes to see what the boys are getting into now.

* * *

Not much later, Peter is in the living room reading a book. The boys were noisy for awhile, but they've been quiet for the past half hour. He should check to make sure they're asleep and not plotting some elaborate prank.

Just as he's straining his ears to see if he can hear whispering, Stiles pads down the stairs in his bare feet. He's wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so at least he's ready for bed. He's just not sleeping.

"Stiles?" Peter asks when the boy looks at him with a shy smile.

"Scott's asleep. Can we talk?"

Peter nods and walks into the kitchen, Stiles trailing behind him. "Do you know where Melissa keeps the cocoa powder?"

"She uses the kind that comes in disks. _Abuelita_."

At least it isn't instant, Peter thinks. He reads the directions and follows them, heating up some milk on the stove. "What do you want to talk about?" He looks over his shoulder and sees Stiles watching him avidly.

"Anything. Everything," Stiles says. 

Peter glances at the clock. It's half past eleven, but Stiles seems wide awake. "I don't know if we have time for _everything_. You should probably sleep eventually."

"I want to hear more about your plans after college," Stiles says. 

Peter nearly drops the cups, he's so surprised. "I haven't thought about it much. I've been… well. Here, let's take the hot chocolate into the living room."

Stiles carries his own cup and Peter worries he'll trip. Stiles is delightful, but he's a klutz. Somehow, though, he gets to the couch without incident, and then they settle in, facing each other.

Stiles is quiet, waiting patiently in a way Peter appreciates. It must be hard for Stiles to stay silent; it doesn't happen often, and Peter knows the boy has ADHD. But not even his toes are moving, he's so intent.

"I know I want to help people. Omegas," Peter says. "I've been so focused on actually getting to college, though…" He trails off. He's not sure how much he wants to say about this. Sure, Stiles is courting him, but they don't know each other that well yet. _But how will you ever, if you don't open up?_ Peter's inner voice sounds a lot like Marin.

Stiles is waiting for him to get his thoughts in order.

"I know I've mentioned my sister is conservative, but maybe I haven't told you just how bad she is," Peter says. He takes a sip of his drink but doesn't really taste it. "She wanted me mated almost from the moment I turned sixteen. She has a really old-fashioned view of omegas and alphas, and she thinks the only way I'll be happy is if I start having babies."

"Wow," Stiles says. "So I'm guessing she hates the long courtship we have."

"She thinks I should dump you and find someone more suitable. But her idea of a good alpha is…" Peter shakes his head.

"What do _you_ think makes a good alpha?" Stiles asks curiously.

Peter goes quiet as he thinks. This is the perfect time to start molding Stiles into a good mate. He wasn't sure, at first, if he wanted to keep the courtship going once he gets what he wants — an education. But the idea of having a mate who supports him, who cares about him for himself, who doesn't push him to do things he doesn't want to do — well, it's an attractive prospect. 

"What's wrong?" Stiles asks when Peter doesn't answer.

Maybe Peter should just be honest, instead of trying to manipulate Stiles into being what he wants him to be. But the possibilities are endless.

"I thought Deucalion was a good alpha," Peter says.

Stiles really is terrible at keeping a poker face. At the sound of Deuc's name, his hand clenches around his cup and he scowls down into his hot chocolate.

Peter doesn't laugh, but he is amused. "He wasn't, though. Don't worry, I'm not running back to him."

The tension slowly leaves Stiles's body, and Peter goes on.

"But what made me think he was good, at first, was that he listened to me and… well. He made me think he wanted me to be happy. He talked about the future in vague terms, but enough that I thought he wanted me to thrive. To just be me."

"What made you end the courtship?" Stiles asks.

"He told me I'd change my mind about college once I was pregnant with my first pup," Peter says. He's not bitter about it anymore, but the words still come out that way.

"Asshole," Stiles says. He sounds angry on Peter's behalf, which is strangely satisfying.

"Quite," Peter says with a huff of laughter.

"Well, I don't want to talk about the future in vague terms," Stiles says. Determination glints in his eyes. "Tell me everything."

Peter laughs again, delighted, and forgets about his scheme to make Stiles a better alpha, at least for now. Stiles might just be getting there on his own.

* * *

They talk, and talk. Sometimes Stiles acts like he wants to say something else, that he's holding back, but whatever it is, he doesn't bring it up. Peter can tell it's something that's bothering the boy, but he doesn't want to push. 

Stiles finally falls asleep around 2:30, and Peter is too tired to walk him into the room where Scott is. Peter grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covers Stiles, smiling a little to himself as he does. There's no one around to see him do such an outright _omega_ thing, so he figures it's safe. No one has to know.

Peter falls asleep shortly after, and doesn't wake up again until Melissa comes home from work after 4. He actually wakes to the shutter sound on Melissa's phone, and he knows she took a picture. He looks at himself, at the way his head has fallen down to rest on Stiles's leg, and groans. 

"You're not going to show anyone that, are you?" Peter asks quietly.

Stiles mumbles in his sleep and reaches out, catching Peter's shirt in his hand. Melissa grins.

"Already sent to Claudia," she says. Then her smile falters and she adds, "She needs all the happy moments she can get right now."

Peter rubs his face and gentle pulls Stiles's fingers off his shirt. "What do you mean?"

Melissa looks at him in surprise. "Stiles didn't… oh, of course he didn't." She sighs. "It's not my place, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Is something wrong with Stiles?" Peter asks, and then immediately shakes his head at his own question. "No. One of the Stilinskis."

Melissa purses her lips. 

"Is it… you can't tell me because of HIPAA?"

"Like I said, I shouldn't have brought it up," Melissa says.

"Mom's sick," Stiles says then. He sighs and sits up. "I wanted to tell you, Peter. I just wanted everything to be normal."

"Stiles, you don't have to talk about it," Melissa says, and Peter agrees.

But Stiles looks at Peter and shrugs. "You'll find out soon anyway."

Peter rearranges himself so he's sitting comfortably and facing Stiles again. Melissa looks at them and walks away, putting her jacket and purse down. She looks and smells exhausted. Sad, too, the way Stiles does now.

"You don't have to tell me now," Peter says. "Melissa, you should be going to bed."

She looks conflicted. "How about I take a shower and wash the hospital stink off me while you two talk?"

Peter looks at Stiles to see if that's okay. He looks relieved. Stiles says, "That's fine. Don't wake Scott up."

"You haven't told him?" Peter asks.

Stiles shakes his head. "Scott's got enough going on."

Melissa nods and walks upstairs. Peter takes Stiles's hand. "Just because your friend has other things to worry about, that doesn't mean he won't want to know something important that's going on with you."

"I'll tell him. Just not yet," Stiles says.

Peter runs his thumb over the back of Stiles's hand. "Okay. And you want to tell me now? I can wait, if you need more time."

"Mom's got something called frontotemporal dementia," Stiles says, pronouncing the unfamiliar words carefully. 

Peter's heart sinks. He knows what dementia is, and knows enough anatomy to parse the first word, too. He just doesn't know what it means for Claudia. He waits for Stiles to tell him.

"She's had it for awhile, but. I guess she knew something was wrong and she started leaving notes for herself? To remind her when she forgot. That's one of the symptoms, a poor memory."

"She hid it?" Peter asks with a frown.

"Until she couldn't anymore," Stiles says. "You can laugh off losing your car keys or your phone, and apologize when you forget to pick your son up from school, but there's not a lot of hiding it when you forget altogether that you even have a kid."

There are tears welling up in Stiles's eyes now, and Peter wants to — no, he _needs_ to — comfort him. Peter takes Stiles's other hand so that he has both. Stiles squeezes hard and looks into Peter's eyes.

"She's going to die," he says, voice trembling and weak. "But first, everything's going to get worse. Much worse."

Peter isn't sure if now is the time to remind Stiles that he lost his parents, too, and that he understands what kind of pain he's facing, except Peter knows that's not what Stiles needs to hear right now. He doesn't need commiseration, no matter how deep a well it's drawn from.

"We'll get through this. I promise," Peter says. 

"My dad is already… he's a mess. I'm afraid, I'm so afraid I'll lose them _both_ ," Stiles says, whispering the last like a secret he's scared to voice.

"That's not going to happen," Peter says, as steady and sure as he can.

Melissa returns then but Peter doesn't look at her. He's focused entirely on Stiles, whose eyes are brimming with tears still unspilled.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, looking down suddenly. 

"Oh, honey," Melissa whispers.

"What are you sorry for?" Peter asks, bewildered. 

Stiles pulls his hands out of Peter's and makes fists. He sniffs, then angrily wipes at his face. "I'm the alpha. I'm not supposed to-" He cuts himself off, which is a good thing. If he said something stupid, Peter would have yelled at him. It's stupid enough.

"Do you think I care about that?" Peter asks. "You're allowed to have feelings and to need support. We all do. It doesn't matter what our designation is."

"I feel like such a baby," Stiles says, and that's when Peter gives in and pulls him close. 

"It's okay," Peter murmurs against Stiles's hair. "We'll get through this." He looks at Melissa, who's crying a little, too. "What's the bite-survival ratio?"

"She's too far gone," Melissa says with a shake of her head. "The bite would kill her even faster."

Stiles clings to him. Melissa ducks out of the room, leaving them alone. 

"It's okay," Peter says again. 

"It's really not," Stiles says with a sniffle.

Peter doesn't know what to say to that.

"I didn't want to tell you yet," Stiles says. "We were talking… the future sounds really good with you. But then I remember my mom's not going to be there to see it."

"Do you know how much longer she might have?" Peter asks as delicately as he can.

Stiles shakes his head against Peter's shoulder. "She doesn't remember how long she's been hiding it. If she'd been diagnosed early enough, there were some options. The bite, even. Maybe. But she just kept hiding it, and now there's hardly any time left, and… I'm mad at her."

The last words are spoken in a shameful whisper, and Peter's heart breaks.

"When my mother died, I was so angry with her. She left Talia and me alone with our father, who was, frankly, a despicable person. For a long time, I blamed my mother for the situation. But I loved her. I loved her so much, Stiles," Peter says, and he wonders what it is about the boy that makes him want to share his feelings this way.

"How… how did your mom die?" Stiles asks.

Peter knows he opened this door, that he should follow through to the other side, but he's too tired and heartsick to add more to the already heavy night. "I'll tell you another time."

Stiles squeezes him but doesn't push for more. "Okay. When you're ready."

"Thank you," Peter says quietly. He sighs. "How about we get a little more sleep? I'm too tired to drive home just yet."

He knows it's inappropriate to snuggle with the alpha who's courting him, to sleep so close, but Stiles is twelve and dealing with a terrible thing. He doesn't think Melissa will tell on them, and it's not like it'll be a frequent occurrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taking so long to get this out to you. I started my novel over again! And I'm making progress with it - finally!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a letter from Stanford, then goes to Stiles's13th birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila!

Peter applies to six universities, but he only cares about one. So when the rejections from the other schools come in, it doesn't matter to him. He didn't put much work into them anyway. It's the one from Stanford that he's waiting for, the one he's pinned all his hopes for the future on.

His grades are great — he's going to be Valedictorian of his year even if it breaks him. His SAT scores weren't perfect, but damn, they were close. And the essay he wrote to Stanford admissions just about killed him to write, but it was full of heart and hope.

So when he gets the envelope with Stanford's name at the return address, he stops breathing for a moment. 

"What's that?" Talia asks. Now, everyone in the room is looking at him. 

"Are we going soon?" Cora asks, oblivious to the fact that Peter's holding his future in his hands. Today is the day of Stiles's birthday party. He's thirteen now, and he's having a small gathering at his house.

Peter tucks the sealed envelope in his jacket pocket and nods at his young niece. "Yes, let's go."

He'll open the letter soon. 

"Let me just…" He pats his pockets, makes sure the small box is on him, and nods. "Got Stiles's birthday present?"

Cora whips out a gift bag. "Yep!"

"Let's go, then," Peter says.

Stiles originally planned on having his birthday party at the local laser tag center, but changed his mind two weeks ago. He told Peter privately that his mom was getting more fragile, that too much commotion or stress made her symptoms worse. So, smaller gathering it is. 

"What'd you get him?" Peter asks Cora on the drive.

"New drawing pencils and one of those gum erasers," Cora says. 

Stiles has recently discovered he's good at art, and moreover, really enjoys it. Peter thinks it's Stiles's way of expressing himself and dealing with his mother's illness. Now, Peter wonders if he should have gotten Stiles something arty.

"Why, what'd you get him?" Cora asks.

"It's really hard to shop for him," Peter grumbles. 

"Uh oh," Cora says with a grin. "Did you get your mate a shitty present?"

Peter sighs. "Okay, first of all, _language_ , and second, he is not my mate-"

"Close enough," Cora butts in to say.

"Call him my intended, if you _must_. There's no guarantee we'll be mates at the end of this anyway."

"Why'd you ever say yes?" Cora asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

Peter swallows. "You know my situation." He takes a left out of the Preserve now, driving toward town.

"Why'd you dump that first alpha, anyway? What was his name…?"

"Deucalion," Peter says. "He was an asshole."

"I've got three years before alphas start giving me Overtures," Cora says quietly. "I doubt Mom will let me get out of it."

Peter's quiet for a moment. Thinking. 

"What do I do?" Cora sounds so bewildered. Lost.

"I got lucky with Stiles," Peter says. "His dad is sponsoring me so I can go to school. I don't know if Talia will change her mind about college when it's your turn or not. Maybe talk to your dad about it."

"Okay."

"I know it's hard. And it's unfair. But it won't be like this forever," Peter says.

Cora shrugs. "I just keep thinking about how different things would be if I was an alpha. Or even a beta, like Derek."

"I'm sorry," Peter says. He feels helpless and he's tired of it. He wishes he could tell Cora it'll be okay.

"So what did you get Stiles?"

"A fidget cube," Peter mutters.

"Why are you embarrassed?" Cora asks. "That's actually thoughtful."

"I hope Stiles thinks so," Peter says.

Cora laughs. "You could give him a rotten banana peel and he'd cherish it."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Peter says dryly.

* * *

Once they pull in front of the Stilinski house, Cora grabs the gift bag and takes off into the back yard where they can hear some music playing. Peter heads to the front door like a reasonable adult.

Peter hasn't seen Claudia much since he found out she was ill, and while Stiles has been down and obviously stressed, he hasn't talked about her, either. Peter doesn't push him to talk about it, and Stiles doesn't mention Peter's mother, either.

So it's not until he sees her at the birthday party that he gets a glimpse of what the Stilinski's have been going through. 

"Claudia?" Peter says when he sees her. She's greeting people at the door just like she always would, but John has been handing out name stickers for the kids to wear. Peter gets one, too. (Even Stiles has one, John tells him quietly.)

But she doesn't look at his sticker before she smiles at him and calls him by name. "I'm so glad you could come, Peter. Stiles has been talking about you so much."

Peter quickly looks her over, noticing all the differences. She's lost weight. Her hair is longer, but it's lank and dull. She _looks_ ill, so he'd know it even if he wasn't a werewolf and couldn't smell it. 

The scent is disheartening. She smells like she's dying. 

"I wouldn't want to miss it and disappoint Stiles," Peter says smoothly, though inwardly he's shaken. 

Claudia smiles wider, more genuinely, and it's almost like she's herself again. "Good," she says. "I'm glad you care for him. I know you do, I can see it in your eyes." She reaches out and grips his forearm. "He's going to need you." She's surprisingly strong and intense for someone so sick.

"Honey, let him go," John says.

"I'm just talking to him," Claudia says, but her grip is so tight it might have hurt a human. Left a bruise. 

"It's fine," Peter says.

"Claudia," John says without looking at him.

She lets go of Peter and smiles apologetically. "We'll talk later, hon."

John gives Peter a narrow look. "Only if you're up to it," he says to Claudia. "Let me know if you start to feel too tired for this. I can kick everyone out."

Claudia groans. "Really? It's our son's birthday. You can't do that."

"They can at least keep the celebrations to the back yard." John finally addresses Peter. "Did you bring a gift?"

Peter nods. He pulls the small box out of his jacket.

"It goes on the kitchen table," John says, and with that, Peter feels thoroughly dismissed.

And then Stiles comes barrelling into the room and nearly knocks him over. "Peter, you came!"

"Of course I did, idiot," Peter says fondly, hugging him back just as tightly as Stiles is holding him. Then he steps back. "I have to put your gift on the table."

"You brought me a present?" Stiles asks.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Stiles, it's your _birthday_."

"What is it?" Stiles asks, following along as Peter walks into the kitchen to place the present.

"You'll have to be patient and see," Peter says.

Stiles sighs. "Fine. I'm just happy you're here anyway." How someone can be so open and earnest about his feelings, Peter will never know. "C'mon. Everyone's in the back yard."

'Everyone' includes Scott, who Peter knows already, of course. And Cora's already talking to another little girl Peter's never seen before. Some parents are there, too, not just the Stilinskis.

"You'll have to introduce me to everyone," Peter says, because these are his potential mate's friends, and their age differences won't be so pronounced forever. He needs to at least try to get along.

"Do you know Heather? She's my other best friend," Stiles says. Heather is the smallest kid in the group and seems super shy. "This is Allison. She's new." Allison is the girl talking to Cora, and beside her is a man (presumably her father) who looks as out of place at a child's birthday party as Peter feels. Stiles waves to the man, an alpha who frowns at Peter, and who says his name is Chris Argent. 

Peter holds out his hand. He's not about to be intimidated by a strange alpha. "I'm Peter Hale. Cora's uncle." He nods at his niece.

"And my intended omega," Stiles says, stepping in front of Peter. It's cute because he's so young, but a little too possessive for Peter's liking.

But all Peter has to say is, "Stiles," in a low tone, and Stiles's eyes widen and he's looking apologetic. 

Chris laughs. "I see," he says, in a tone that makes Peter sure he actually doesn't.

"Stiles and I are in a long courtship," Peter says as seriously as he can. He doesn't want Stiles to face more ridicule, especially at his own birthday party. He gets enough of that already.

"Dad," Allison says, in a whisper loud enough to carry across the yard. "They really are courting."

Chris slowly looks between Peter and Stiles. He's curious, but he doesn't ask any probing questions that might embarrass Stiles. Peter decides he may not be so bad after all.

Stiles is still frowning as if he's worried Chris might try to steal Peter right out from under his nose, but Peter squeezes his shoulder and Stiles relaxes.

"Is that everyone?" Peter asks, looking around.

"I wanted to keep it small," Stiles says quietly. "For Mom."

"It's certainly quiet," Peter says. The party isn't very festive, but he understands. "Why don't we play a game?"

John is nearby, and he puts an arm around Stiles's shoulder. "Want me to get something out? Exploding Kittens?"

Stiles gives his father a look that would wither a weaker alpha. 

John raises an eyebrow and they have some silent, yet sarcastic, conversation through their expressions for a moment.

Then Stiles says, "How about Cards Against Humanity?"

Peter perks up. He always slays at CAH.

John looks dubious.

"C'mon, Dad, I'm a teenager now." Stiles's expression makes Peter smile. 

John grumbles something about it being better than beer pong, then wanders away to (presumably) find the game.

Stiles grins at Peter, and Peter finds himself grinning hopelessly back. "Should we let the adults play, too?"

"Let's see who wants to play first, and if we're still a lower number, we can ask," Peter says. He likes how Stiles asks his opinion about things.

It turns out that Heather and Scott don't want to play, but Chris and Claudia do. Stiles starts out as card czar since it's his birthday. 

Surprisingly, everyone's answers are funny, especially the adults, but it's Cora who wins the first point. Peter couldn't be prouder of her Oedipus joke. 

Stiles nudges Peter at one point, when Peter's mind wanders to the envelope in his pocket. Somehow Stiles knows when Peter's not paying attention. Peter gives him an apologetic shrug and tries to concentrate on what card is best to play. He doesn't have any good cards.

He wants to open the envelope and know for sure that he's going to Stanford, but now that he has their answer, he's starting to worry. What if they don't want him? What if his essay wasn't good enough? He did everything he was supposed to do. He has the grades. He has a can-do attitude. But what if-

"Peter," Stiles whispers. 

Peter realizes his hands are trembling. He looks at Stiles and pulls the envelope out of his pocket to let Stiles see what it is. 

"You haven't opened it?" Stiles asks.

"I need a break," Claudia announces quietly, putting her cards down. "Or maybe we can have cake?"

Peter nods but doesn't move. The guests seem eager to eat, though, running toward the house, and soon Peter can hear John telling them to be patient.

"Are you going to open it now?" Stiles asks Peter once they're alone at the picnic table with Claudia.

Claudia smiles. "Let's see." She's sharp right now and looks supportive. 

Peter flattens the envelope in front of him. "I'm kind of nervous, truthfully."

"That's okay," Stiles says, pressing against his side.

Peter slides the letter over to Claudia. "Can you open it for me?"

Claudia gives the letter to Stiles. "Words don't like me much lately. I can't seem to get them to stay on the page."

Stiles is holding the envelope now, looking at Peter. "This okay?"

Peter feels sick with anxiety. He swallows hard and then says, "Go ahead."

Stiles is almost as nervous as Peter. The scent of anxiety is rising from him, his heart beating even faster than usual, and Peter presses the weight of his shoulder against Stiles's to calm him.

Stiles nods to himself and rips open the envelope. Peter looks away as Stiles starts to read silently.

_Please_ , Peter thinks, hopes, prays. _Please let me have this._

The moment stretches out.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says quietly.

Maybe he's joking. Stiles is always…

But then Peter looks into his eyes and sees the truth. His hand is trembling when he takes the letter so he can read for himself.

He's expecting it to be as harsh as he feels it to be, but it's not. The letter itself is nice, letting him down in as kind a way as possible. 

_I am very sorry to let you know we are unable to offer you admission to Stanford. This decision in no way diminishes your application, which we know was completed with thoughtfulness and care._

It's painful, and yet soft. The letter remarks on his academics, on his essay, on how much the writer wishes they had more room in their freshman class. 

By the time he reaches the last line, he can't read it. It's blurred from the tears in his eyes. he blinks them away, droplets landing on the page.

"Thank you for applying to Stanford. We enjoyed learning about you, and we know you will thrive wherever your education takes you," Stiles reads softly when Peter can't.

"Oh, honey," Claudia says, and then Peter has a Stilinski on either side of him, hugging him as he cries.

It was his dream, and he pinned everything on getting into Stanford. He researched their professors and plotted a course through all the way to graduate school. Now he's left with nothing, no future at all.

But Stiles is leaning against him, saying something into his ear, and now would be a good time to listen. 

"You can go to the local college for a couple years and reapply, right? This isn't the end. You can still do it. And we'll get you recommendations this time, we'll stand by you, you're going to rule the world, Peter. I swear. If not like this, then some other way. I'll do anything for you, for you to get your dreams. I promise."

Stiles is crying, too. He's crying for Peter, and holding on to him, and maybe… maybe this isn't the end of the world.

It just feels like it.

"Stiles is right, this isn't the end. You have your whole life ahead of you," Claudia whispers strongly.

"What's going on here?" John says, stepping out of the house and looking at them. They must be a mess. 

Peter bows his head and cleans his face as best as he can with his hands. Then John hands him a handkerchief. 

"Thank you," Peter croaks.

"Are you okay?" John asks, but before Peter answers, he realizes the man is speaking to his mate.

Claudia smiles, though she's a little teary, too. "Fine."

"Stiles missed his own cake," John says. "And the others will be coming out here soon." He looks at Peter. "Do you need to go inside and wash your face?"

Peter sniffles. He probably should.

"I'll come with you," Stiles says. 

"No, I. Um," Peter clears his throat. "Give me a few minutes alone?"

Stiles nods. "Of course."

Peter looks at Claudia. "Thank you."

"Oh, honey, I didn't do anything."

Except she did. She showed the kind of kindness he'd expect from a mother, and exactly the opposite of the indifference he'll get from Talia.

He passes Cora on the way into the house. She stops him with a hand on his elbow, and looks into his eyes worriedly.

Peter shrugs. "I didn't get into Stanford." The words hurt to say.

Cora makes a sympathetic face, then darts forward for a quick hug. "Talk later?"

"Okay," Peter whispers, then pulls away.

He goes into the bathroom and splashes his face with cool water. It doesn't make him feel better, but it gives him the time to collect himself. He holds his head high when he walks out, pushing down the emotions that made him cry in the first place.

The kitchen table is bare, so it looks like the presents have been relocated to the back yard for opening. Peter grabs a bottle of cold water from a chest near the door, and tells himself to keep it together.

Stiles waits until he sees Peter before opening his present. There are a few opened presents near him, mostly art supplies. Peter worries that he should have gotten something similar.

But then Stiles lights up when he sees the fidget cube Peter picked out. Peter had almost chosen the classy brass geared one he saw, but it only did one or two things. The cube he bought, that Stiles is currently checking out, has six sides, six different 'activities' to keep Stiles's hand busy while he concentrates on other things. It doesn't require hand/eye coordination like a some popular gadgets, so Stiles doesn't have to focus to fidget.

"This is perfect, Peter," Stiles tells him, and for a moment, Peter forgets everything but that he's provided for his future mate, and his wolf likes it.

Peter smiles and nods, ignoring the curious looks of the other guests. Stiles plays with the cube for a moment before putting it in his pocket. Then he's on to his next gift.

Unfortunately, it's then that an unexpected arrival interrupts the peaceful party.

"Dad?" Scott's voice is more bewildered than joyful at seeing the father who never seems to be around.

Melissa kicked Rafe out the week before. They haven't set up visitation yet, and something about Rafe's presence has Peter on high alert. He takes his phone out and calls Melissa immediately. 

Rafe is saying something about taking Scott to see his new place, and Scott is dragging his heels because he's at his best friend's birthday party.

"What's going on here?" Chris says lowly.

Melissa finally answers her phone and Peter quickly tells her what's happening. He can hear the anger and worry in her voice. "Don't let him take Scott, he has no right." Melissa ends the call, but not before promising to get to the Stilinskis' soon.

"Is there a problem?" Claudia asks from her place at the picnic table.

"Rafe's not supposed to be here, let alone be taking Scott away," Peter tells them. He's ready to go toe to toe with Rafe, but he hopes he can get back up.

"I had the same problem with my ex, back before the divorce was finalized," Chris says quietly. "Some people use their children as pawns for revenge." He looks at Peter and nods. "We won't let that happen. C'mon."

Chris strides over to where Rafe is grabbing his son by the arm in a tight grip. 

"Let him go," Stiles says before anyone else can. 

"Scotty and I were just leaving," Rafe says.

"Melissa said you're not supposed to be here," Peter says. "And you weren't invited. So go."

Rafe narrows his eyes at Peter and takes a threatening step forward. Stiles jumps in front of Peter and growls. He's human and young, but it's still the unmistakable sound of an alpha protecting his chosen mate.

Peter doesn't have time to ponder the way his inner omega responds to that because Chris is already pulling Rafe away and dodging one of the man's fists.

"You don't want to fight me," Chris says, but there's a gleam in his eye that makes Peter sure Chris wouldn't mind at all.

John tries to step in, but then Claudia makes a sound of distress and John's focus can't be on Rafe and his mate at the same time. 

"Mom?" Stiles says, obviously torn between going to her and staying where he can protect Peter if needed.

"Come here," Peter says, holding Stiles by the shoulders and pulling him back, away from where Rafe is swinging at Chris again. "Let Chris handle this." He's sure he can.

Rafe does land a hit, but then Chris hits back and manages to grab him with his arm behind his back, and walks him out of the yard and toward his car, swearing to do much worse if he doesn't leave.

Claudia isn't doing too well, it doesn't seem. Her eyes are unfocused, and John rubs her back with a worried expression on his face.

Peter says, "Go ahead and take her upstairs. Do you want me to send everyone home?"

"That's not fair to Stiles," John says tiredly. "He hasn't even finished opening his presents."

"I can watch the kids, make sure no one gets into trouble," Peter says.

"I can help," Chris says, walking up to them, touching his lip where it's bleeding.

"Dad! Are you okay?" Allison asks.

Scott's sitting in the corner of the yard, looking like he's trying not to cry. Cora is hovering near Heather, who looks like she's ready to call her mom and go home.

Chris waves his daughter off. "Everyone okay?" he asks everyone.

Peter hears a car's brakes screech outside the house and soon Melissa is running into the yard, looking around frantically.

Peter tells Chris, "I'll handle the kids. Can you reassure Melissa that everything's okay?"

Heather does call her mom, but the rest of the kids seem content to watch Stiles open presents and then put the music up so they can have an impromptu lip sync battle.

And Peter, keeping half his attention on the guests, peeks into the kitchen window from the back yard. Melissa is fussing over Chris's busted lip, and Chris is looking at her like she hung the moon. Peter knows that look; he sees it often enough on Stiles's face. Chris is infatuated with Melissa. 

Peter's not sure how he feels about that. He feels protective of Melissa, and seeing a new alpha sniffing around makes him uneasy. Chris might be okay now, but what if he's like Rafe in the end, or Deuc, or even Talia?

It's tough being an omega, and Peter knows this well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, *please* be patient from here on out. I don't have another full chapter written yet and I've been trying to focus on writing the original thing.
> 
> But kind comments are always appreciated. :D?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been added. If you absolutely need to know exactly what happens, go to the end notes. Please take care of yourself.

Peter's grades slip the rest of the year, and his GPA is lowered. He doesn't make Valedictorian as he was on track to do, and when Stiles asks him about it on date night, he sighs.

"After I got rejected from Stanford, I just thought… what's the point?" Peter scuffs his feet against the sand beneath the swing on the playground. They're alone there at night, even though technically they should have an escort.

Stiles looks concerned. "But-"

"The apathy didn't last long, but it was enough for my academic standing to fall." Peter swings closer so he can lean into Stiles's shoulder. "It's okay. Marin earned it." He doesn't tell Stiles how he's still really depressed about not getting into Stanford, but he doesn't want to add more to the boy's plate.

"So you got Salutatorian? Do you still make a speech?" Stiles asks.

"No, but I helped Marin revise and rehearse hers." Not that she really needed the help. She was just humoring him, and Peter knows it.

"Well, I'm still coming to your graduation. Mom, too," Stiles promises.

This means John will drive them, might even hang around. But John doesn't care for Peter much, and if he's in the crowd, he probably won't be cheering when Peter walks across the stage.

Peter wishes things were different, but he doesn't blame John for not trusting him. It's been clear from the start that Peter accepted Stiles's Overture for his own reasons. It's not that he doesn't care about Stiles, he's just never shown much of that side of himself to John.

"What's the sigh for?" Stiles asks.

Peter shakes his head. "Just wondering if I should try to win your father over." Is it worth the effort? 

"Let me handle Dad," Stiles says.

Peter glances at him sideways. "I don't think it will do any good, coming from you. I need to convince him of a few things."

"Like what?" Stiles asks.

Peter shrugs. "I haven't put much effort into showing him I like you."

"What do you mean?" Stiles wants to know.

"When I agreed to your courtship, it was for selfish reasons. And your father thinks I'm still in the same place as when we began."

"But you're not," Stiles says. There's a slight nervousness in his voice. 

Peter smiles to reassure him. "No, I'm not. I've gotten to know you. I really do like you, Stiles."

"Enough to be my mate?" Stiles asks hopefully.

Peter gives him a sly smile. "I guess we'll see about that. But everything certainly points to that outcome, yes." He looks at his watch. "I need to go. Meeting Marin."

"Oh, right. Graduation party?" Stiles asks.

Peter nods. "Nothing too wild."

"Stay safe," Stiles says. 

Peter wants to reassure him somehow, so he leans in and kisses Stiles's cheek. "See you soon. I'll text you."

Stiles beams.

* * *

Marin isn't at the party when Peter arrives. Somehow, Laura got her hands on some wolfsbane-spiked Fireball. Peter hates it, thinks it tastes like red hots and piss, but he's also feeling down and Laura keeps refilling his cup with the cinnamon whiskey and winking.

Less than an hour after arriving at the party, Peter's sitting on a loveseat in someone's basement, wishing his life was different and watching the room spin.

"Hits different when there's wolfsbane, yeah?" Laura says with a laugh.

"Oh, fuck you. Can we leave now?" Peter asks. He hasn't seen Marin since he got here, either.

Laura sighs. "Not yet. Got some partying to do. Just sit here, if you're determined to keep that stick up your ass." She flounces off, leaving him to sit alone and hope she's not drunk once it's time to drive home.

He pulls his phone out, texts Marin. **Where are you?**

Only a minute goes by before he gets an answer from her. **Alan won't drive me there. Looks like I'm not coming. Have fun without me?**

Peter groans. He wouldn't have even come if he knew Marin wasn't going to be at the party, and now he's pretty much tied to Laura's whims. He's never felt more alone.

"Get stood up?" someone asks him.

Peter looks and sees an unfamiliar figure standing right in front of him. He shrugs. "No big deal."

"Mind if I sit?" the guy asks. He's either Peter's age or a little older. He sits down without Peter's answer, and the scent of alpha on him is strong.

"I'm Ray," the new alpha says. Peter finds himself smiling. He blames it on the Fireball. 

"Peter," he answers.

"I know. I've been watching you," Ray says.

Peter raises a brow. "Should I be disturbed or flattered?"

Ray laughs. "Flattered, I hope." He holds up a familiar bottle. "Your sister said I should come top off your drink."

Peter knows there's a reason he shouldn't take drinks from strangers, but he can't remember why, right now. It's already spiked. And other kinds of drugs don't really work on werewolves. Well, maybe they do if there's wolfsbane involved. He's not sure. 

"Laura's my niece, not my sister," Peter says. After a moment's debate, he holds out his cup. "Fine, I'll take a little more. Might as well."

Ray grins and then pours entirely too much Fireball into Peter's cup. Peter knows he should be wary.

"So what are you doing down here all by your lonesome?" Ray asks. He has nice brown eyes, though they aren't as nice as Stiles's. 

Peter shrugs. "I was waiting for someone, but she's not coming."

"Your alpha?" Ray asks.

Peter takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head. 

"You do have an alpha, though?" Ray asks.

Peter sighs. "I don't want to talk about my alpha," he says.

Unfortunately, Ray takes that as an invitation to scoot closer and put an arm around him. it feels nice, but wrong at the same time. "Lonely?"

"Hey, stop," Peter says, trying to move away. His body feels like lead, though. He knows he could break Ray's hold if he tried hard enough, but he doesn't want to hurt the guy just because he has the wrong idea.

"I didn't do anything," Ray says, but he moves his arm to the back of the cushions instead of around Peter's shoulders. "Better?"

Peter frowns. "Yeah."

"So… no touching yet. Want to just talk, then?" Ray asks.

_Not really_ , Peter thinks, but he doesn't have anyone else to talk to, and Ray is right. He is feeling lonely.

"So, you have an alpha, but he's not here, and he's okay with you going to parties by yourself?" Ray asks.

"He doesn't fucking own me," Peter says, maybe a little too forcefully. 

Ray snorts. "Okay. I was just thinking, if you were my omega, I wouldn't let you sit alone in a basement when there's a party upstairs."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter mumbles. He takes another swallow of the whiskey.

"Just that I think your alpha might be neglecting you," Ray says.

"You don't know anything about him," Peter says. "He's a good… He's not like what you're saying."

"Really?" Ray asks dubiously.

"He's got a lot to think about right now," Peter says, peering into his now-empty cup. "He doesn't need to babysit me. Or vice versa."

Ray shakes the bottle. "More?"

"I shouldn't," Peter says, eyeing it. It doesn't taste as disgusting as when he started, but he knows he shouldn't be drinking so much. 

"Okay," Ray says, and sets the bottle down on the table in front of them. "It's there if you want some later, though. So… Peter. Tell me about yourself."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Not much to tell." Not that he'd share with a stranger, anyway.

Ray tilts his head. "You're a senior, right? Graduating? What college are you going to next semester?"

Peter sighs. It's the last thing he wants to talk about. "Doesn't matter."

"Bad grades?" Ray asks. "I hear it's harder to get a placement when you're an omega."

"Yeah," Peter says, and reaches for the bottle. "Yeah to the omega part, not the grades. I got good… good grades." 

Ray puts his hand over Peter's as he's pouring to help make sure it gets into the cup.

"Thanks," Peter says, and takes a gulp of whiskey. It doesn't even burn now.

"So you have a plan?" Ray asks.

"Always have a plan," Peter tells him seriously. Though it might not sound very serious, as the words are slightly slurred. "Gonna get an education, change the world."

Ray smiles. "What does your alpha think of your plans?"

Peter nearly spills his drink when he waves his cup to say, "He loves my plans."

"Hmm," Ray says. 

Peter lists to the side. Ray helps him sit up. He's got his arm around Peter's shoulders again, but this time Peter doesn't stop him. He's got to stay upright somehow.

"Shoulda got into Stanford," Peter mutters. "But no, gotta go to fuckin'... fuckin' community college."

"Better than no college," Ray says.

Peter nods. Ray isn't so bad. He's comfortable, too. Makes a nice pillow, and his alpha smell isn't too strong or annoying. It's almost just right. 

Stiles has the best smell, though.

Ray moves him around a little, says something about loosening his clothes so he's more comfortable. Peter knows that's not quite right, but he's too out of it to care or object. When Ray touches his skin, Peter tries to bat his hands away. He just wants to sleep. 

Peter's tugged into an uncomfortable position, but everything is fuzzy and his mouth feels like it's glued shut. Something's wrong but... 

There are cold hands on him. Rough. He can't move.

"Excuse me," someone says. Someone familiar. 

"Sir?" Ray says, moving quickly away from Peter.

There's a pause. Peter opens his eyes and looks blearily at John Stilinski, who is standing right in front of them.

"Peter Hale," John says in a bitter voice. "Do you want to explain to me what's happening here? Or do you want to explain it to Stiles, instead?"

"We were just making out, sir. Nothing… nothing big," Ray says.

"Wha?" Peter mutters. "No, not…" But his mouth feels like it's full of marbles.

"Don't go anywhere," John says, pointing at Ray. "Peter?"

Peter tries to keep his eyes open. "Hmm?"

"Did you take anything? Look at me," John says.

"He was just drinking," Ray says. "Maybe he had too much."

"This the bottle?" John asks, sniffing it.

"Wolfsbane," Peter mumbles.

"Who gave you this?" John asks.

"Ray?" Peter answers. His head lolls, too heavy for his neck.

"Jesus Christ. You Ray?" John asks over Peter's head.

"Yes, sir. Laura gave it to me, I swear."

"Do you want to explain how Peter's half undressed when he obviously is in no state to consent?" John asks.

"He acted like he wanted it," Ray says. "He didn't say no or anything."

Peter feels a chill and opens his eyes again. Looks down at his clothes. His pants are unzipped and halfway down his thighs. His shirt is rucked up to his armpits. "Fuck. What… what the fuck?" He tugs at his clothes, trying to get them back in order. Ray is just standing there, looking innocent, talking to John as if he's done nothing wrong.

Peter has a burst of energy. He lunges for Ray. He's not steady or coordinated, but he manages to take a good swipe at Ray with his claws. Smells blood. He's still pissed as hell, though, and needs more.

"Peter!" John yells. He manages to push him back to the sofa and makes him settle. "Let me deal with this."

"Fucking hell, you fucking psycho animal, what the fuck?" Ray exclaims, holding a now-bloody arm.

Peter shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it. He glares at Ray. "Should kill you, you knothead bastard!"

And here he'd thought Ray was _nice_. That he smelled good. Was comfortable. Peter realizes now just how out of it he was. He probably still is.

"I'm arresting you for sexual assault," John says to Ray, and the seriousness of the situation hits Peter even harder. He backs down and curls in on himself. 

John cuffs Ray and has one of his deputies take him away. 

"We should take you to the hospital, get you checked out. How much do you remember?" John asks Peter.

Peter shakes his head. "Fuck." He feels like crying. Might be already.

"Okay. I'll give you a minute."

"I don't think he got far," Peter says after a long moment. He looks up at John. "I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" John asks.

Peter shrugs, but he still feels guilty. 

"Want me to call someone, or do you want me to take you home myself?"

The last person Peter wants to face right now is Talia. She'd make this out to be all his fault for not bonding with someone already. For putting himself in the situation. Peter feels sick.

"I want Stiles," Peter says in a choked voice.

John gives him a long look. Then in a voice more gentle than Peter's ever heard from him, "Okay. Okay, Peter. I'll take you to Stiles."

* * *

Peter sits in the cruiser while he waits for John to come back. The man is currently jabbing his finger in Laura's direction and making some stern faces. Ray's nowhere to be seen, already whisked away for processing (or possibly medical attention — Peter's not sure how much skin he ripped away with his off-target attack).

Peter wants to close his eyes, but he feels… scared, still. Unsafe. There's blood under his fingernails of one hand, drying into a sticky mess. He hates getting bloody, but his hand feels cleaner than the rest of him. He can feel Ray's cold hands on him again and shivers in revulsion.

Laura looks toward the cruiser and says something to John. Peter's senses are still dulled and he can't hear what they say, but then his niece is coming over to his side of the cruiser, guilty look on her face.

He opens the car door. "What."

"I'm so sorry," Laura says. "I thought Ray was a good guy. I thought you'd hit it off. The Fireball was just to loosen you up a little, not… not. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, you didn't… do anything to me."

"I should have checked on you, at least," Laura says. "I just thought maybe you could find an alpha your own age and be happy… I thought…"

Peter waves his hand. "Fuck off, Laura."

"I just hear Mom talking about it all the time, how you can't be happy with that boy, and how he's… I don't know, unsuitable."

He glares, doesn't say anything else.

Laura looks away and nods. "Right."

Then John gets into the cruiser and Peter closes the passenger door. Laura watches as John pulls the car away from the curb. Peter turns his head away from her, hoping she gets the idea. He doesn't blame her, but in a way he does. He blames her, Talia, and himself. Himself for being so stupid. Laura for setting the thing up. Talia for just being Talia and putting it into Laura's head that he needs more than what he has in his life.

"You sure you want Stiles to see you like this?" John asks. He pulls to a stop at a red light and looks over at Peter.

Peter shrugs. "What's that saying, if he can't handle me at my worst, he doesn't deserve me at my best?" He doesn't even feel that drunk anymore, just numb.

"You sound better," John says.

"Wish I felt better," Peter mutters as John eases up off the brake to turn left, toward his house.

John looks uncomfortable, but says, "You will."

Peter stares out the window as the streetlights go by. He knows he'll be better, maybe tomorrow once the liquor and wolfsbane have worn off completely. Ray's in jail, he's got a nasty reminder to keep his hands to himself, and… 

Well, it could have been worse.

He feels sicker at the thought of that. He puts his hand over his mouth and wills himself not to vomit.

"Hey, you okay? Sick?" John asks. 

Thankfully, he pulls up to his house then so Peter can open the door and throw up on his lawn instead of the cruiser's floor. It doesn't make him feel any better once he does it, though. He still feels sick, still feels Ray's hands on him.

He looks up and sees Stiles standing there, concern on his face. Peter wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing.

"Wanna come inside and clean up?" Stiles asks.

Peter nods, looking down, feeling like a major fuck-up. What must Stiles think of him now? But Stiles doesn't say anything. He leads him into the bathroom and turns to leave Peter alone there. Peter catches his hand before he can. "Don't."

Stiles watches intently, waiting for more.

Peter takes a breath. "Stay?"

"Sure," Stiles says. "Um." He looks around the small bathroom and Peter shrugs.

"I feel safer with you here."

There are questions in Stiles's eyes but he doesn't ask them aloud.

"What did your dad say happened?" Peter asks. He strips out of his shirt and notices there's blood on it. That, and a little vomit. Gross. He balls it up and tosses it in the trash.

"He didn't say, just that you needed me and he was bringing you home with him."

Peter sits on top of the closed toilet. He ducks his head so he doesn't have to see Stiles's expression. "I drank too much and some alpha tried… He wanted…" 

Stiles doesn't say anything, but Peter's senses are sharpening and now he smells anger. He hunches in on himself.

"Your dad stopped it from getting too far," Peter mutters. "It could have been worse."

"Who was it?" Stiles asks lowly. "I'll kill him."

Peter snorts. "I tried. Was too fucked up to get his throat, so I just tore up his arm." He looks up at Stiles. "You aren't mad at me?"

Stiles blinks. "Baby, why would I be mad at you?"

The endearment catches Peter off guard, but it makes him feel marginally better. He shrugs.

There's a light tap on the door and Claudia says, "I have some clothes if you want to take a shower. Can I open the door?"

Stiles looks at Peter, so Peter nods. Stiles opens the door and takes a pile of folded clothes from his mother. 

"How you doing, hon?" Claudia asks Peter. Or maybe she's asking both of them. Her eyes are clear — you could never tell she was sick if you didn't know.

"I'll feel better after a shower," Peter says. "Thank you."

"Just a t-shirt and some sweats," Claudia says. "It's the least I can do."

"How are _you_?" Peter asks.

"Don't you worry about me," she says. She puts a hand on Stiles's shoulder. "C'mon, give him some space to clean up."

"Wait, no," Peter says, then ducks his head again. "I just feel safer with Stiles here. I…" He shrugs helplessly, not knowing how else to explain it.

Claudia nods. "John went back to work, so he's not here to say no. So why not? It won't hurt anything, and if it helps…" She smiles. "I'll put some pillows and blankets in the living room, pull out the couch. That is, if you're staying."

"If it's okay with Stiles," Peter mumbles. He's a lot to handle right now, but he can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

"What? Peter, of course it's okay with me," Stiles says, sounding adorably confused and completely supportive.

"Okay, boys," Claudia says. "There's a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, and some special shower gel under the sink if you want to use it. My personal stash."

"I'd rather just use Stiles's," Peter says. He looks at Stiles to gauge his reaction.

Stiles's eyes are wide but pleased, probably at the thought of his mate smelling like him. He might just be human, but he still has all the instincts of an alpha. "You can do that."

Claudia smiles and closes the door. 

"Here, I'll start the water, don't get up yet," Stiles says, and fiddles with the knobs on the tub. "How hot?"

Peter shivers, thinking of Ray's cold hands again. "Hot as I can stand. So all the way."

"Won't you burn yourself?" Stiles says.

"I'll heal," Peter says with a shrug. "It's worth it." Once Stiles is back by the sink, when the water is going in the shower behind the curtain and steam is beginning to rise, Peter toes out of his shoes and takes his socks off, then starts taking his jeans off. 

"I'll just…" Stiles says, and turns his back.

Peter smiles. Doesn't stop him. If Stiles wants to be a gentleman about it, he'll let him. He doesn't want to be looked at right now, really. He just wants to scrub away Ray's scent and touch and then cuddle with his alpha.

"You sure you want me in here while you do this?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," Peter says, and then he's naked and stepping into the shower. "Just talk." He closes the curtain behind him. "You don't have to stay turned around. You can sit."

Peter smells the different bottles in the plastic basket attached to the wall, finds the ones that smell like Stiles. "Forgot a washcloth."

"Oh, here, lemme get one," Stiles says. "You can use a fancy one. Mom says the ones on the towel rod are just for show but you know, you're worth the fancy washcloth."

Peter grabs the washcloth Stiles rests over the top of the shower rod. It has a lacy trim on it. "Thanks. Now.. talk. Tell me something I don't know."

"I was five the first time I ever saw you," Stiles blurts. "It was the first day of kindergarten and you were holding Cora's hand. Telling her school wasn't as scary as she thought, and that she was probably the most dangerous kid in the class. All the other parents or siblings were trying to get their kids to stop crying, but Cora wasn't crying. You told her she was a little badass, and that she had this school thing in the bag."

"I don't remember that," Peter says.

"You looked at me," Stiles says. "I wasn't crying either. Or at least, I'd stopped by then. Mom had calmed me down. You looked at me and said, 'At least one of these kids has his shit together.'"

"Foul mouth I had for a ten-year-old," Peter says.

"Yeah, it was awesome. I pestered Cora all day about her cool uncle. You didn't come to pick her up that day, but every time I saw you after that, I always… I mean, I just knew you were special."

Peter pauses in scrubbing his skin. "You knew me that long?"

"I wanted to be your mate before I even understood what mates were," Stiles says softly.

Peter is quiet, thinking. He scrubs his hair and Stiles keeps talking, though he changes the subject. 

"I really like art, but I don't think I want to be an artist, you know? I'm not bad, but I don't want to devote so much energy into it to get good. I'd rather just appreciate it from afar. And I love writing, but that's not a very lucrative career unless you really get lucky and the stars line up exactly right. So I'm still looking for something I wouldn't mind doing, but that pays well right off the bat so I can support you. I promised you a future, Peter. I haven't forgotten."

Peter scrubs at his hair now, just because he's in the shower and he might as well wash it. He's feeling about seventy percent better. "I don't want you stuck in some job you hate because you want to support me. I'll have a career after college, that's still the plan. So it's not like you'll be the sole breadwinner." He rinses off and stops the water. "Towel?"

Stiles hands him one over the rod and retreats. "Need me in here while you get dressed?" he asks.

Peter is feeling a lot better, a lot less scared. Not as uneasy. And clean. "Just wait outside the door?"

"Sure," Stiles says. Peter hears the door closed and he steps out of the shower, thinking.

Stiles has time to find his niche, to discover what he wants to do with his life. And Peter is determined to be as supportive as Stiles has been. He brushes his teeth, grateful to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth, and thinks of how lucky he is to have Stiles.

The clothes Claudia brought are soft and comfortable. He rubs his hair with the towel and steps out of the bathroom.

Stiles gives him a look he can't decipher, but he doesn't think it's bad. "You look better now," he says.

"I feel better," Peter tells him.

"C'mon, let's go in the living room. Unless you want to eat something first?"

Peter takes Stiles's hand and squeezes. "I think I just need some sleep. My stomach feels better, but I'm still queasy."

"Maybe some crackers and water?" Stiles says.

Peter shrugs. 

"Go ahead and get comfortable and I'll bring some." Though he seems reluctant to let go of Peter's hand.

"Okay," Peter says. 

Stiles kisses Peter's hand and drops it, heading to the kitchen.

Claudia's already arranged the pillows and blankets on the pull-out sofa to resemble a nest. Peter doesn't even have to move much to get it just right. Now all it needs is him and Stiles, and it'll be perfect.

Stiles comes back with a sleeve of saltines and a bottle of cold water. Peter eats the crackers dutifully, slowly, and drinks half the bottle of water. Then he lies down and pulls Stiles down with him. 

"Just stay?" Peter asks.

Stiles wraps an arm around him and kisses his damp hair. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers/spoilers: Peter is incapable of consent due to (implied) spiked drinks, and an alpha OC assaults him. He's touched without giving his consent and though he's not raped, it is implied he would have been if John hadn't come to raid the party. The assault is vague because it's in Peter's POV and he's pretty out of it.


End file.
